Each generation that came through in Belfast always seemed to have their own share of troubles. Sectarianism was accepted as a way of life.
For me personally, growing up my introduction to the troubles was fast and furious. The situation in my village was one of constant harassment from the other side of the road. Stones a first were thrown after the pubs had closed. Night after night crowds began to assemble around various corners of the district. There was always something building.
Inequality was accelerating especially in the areas of housing and education. When people saw Martin Luther King stand up for the rights of his people, many in certain sectors of Belfast and all over the province opened up their eyes to what was the first rays of hope for Catholics in the North of Ireland. Civil rights organizations were formed and almost every march that took place was stopped by the security forces of that time.
Anger was growing around the Catholic neighbourhoods. People found it difficult to turn the other cheek. It wasn't long before the simmering fire of injustice burst into the flames of open conflict.
In my village in 1967, riots were a daily occurrence. At first rocks and petrol bombs were thrown from both sides of the road by angry youths. Sectarian gangs roamed the streets. Buses were hijacked and set alight. Shops were burnt and people evicted from their homes. It wasn't long before gunfire was heard across every neighbourhood. Each day the running battles had left more dead on the streets. Children played in the streets as bullets and bombs echoed a new sound in their ears. Somewhere between fear and innocence they learned to walk to school. I was one of the kids who grew up in Belfast city where troubles had come to stay. Some of the good turned bad, and people cried. It was hard to live with the violence and crime. It was as if a monster had been unleashed to attack the heart of innocent people everywhere.
One of the innocent ones I remember was an old man called Joe. Joe was old and afraid. He had had isolated himself in a little one bedroom flat embrangled by the chains of a social fabric that had deserted him.
One day as I walked past Joe's flat I heard him screaming out. That's how I met him. I walked into Joe's life by accident. Inside his little flat Joe was withering away into decay. He hadn't been eating or washing. Joe's senses were gone: eyesight and hearing. He was pinned down and gripped by paranoia. His social interaction had been taken away because of the troubles and the fear that kept him imprisoned inside his little flat. Joe had locked himself away from life.
Too frightened to go out he sat by the window each day peering out from behind the curtains at the ever silent danger always there on the street. The monster was out there waiting to attack.
Burnt down candles, some without wicks, sat beside holy pictures all around Joe's flat. He had money wrapped up with rubber bands and little shopping lists beside them. I remember the first time I went to the shops for Joe. The look on his face when I returned with some food was priceless.
I helped Joe to clean himself up and contacted welfare agencies for some support. As it turned out Joe's hearing was improved by hearing aids and his eyesight wasn't as bad as I had first thought. Joe had been married once but his wife had died and there were no living family members left to care for Joe. I though to myself, "Here is an old man that had almost worried him self to death in a city that he never thought could help him."
After a meeting with some aged care organizations and members of the local health team, Joe was provided with daily home help and a regular community nurse who would do his shopping and tend to his personal care issues. At that stage it was a better alternative than a nursing home. Joe had the support now of the community around him and some funds were donated to help Joe feel comfortable and free in his little flat.
After a few months work Joe had a new outlook on life. He had a new security system placed outside his front door and smoke alarms and sprinklers fitted. The installation of spotlights around the outside of his front and back yard had complemented the new walkways around his flat.
Joe had a phone with all the emergency numbers stored for easy use. He was given a walking frame and other mobility aids to assist him get around. Once a week he went on an outing with the seniors club. Joe now had some new friends and was seen back at his local church again. The troubles were still as bad as ever on the streets of Belfast but Joe often said he could turn off his hearing aid to that.
When I remembered how insecure Joe was it made me so happy to see this new person with his life together again. The on-going assistance from community health was now in place and I knew Joe was going to be OK.
My last visit with Joe was nice; I bought him some new candles and holy cards for his flat and asked him to pray for me. He said he would think about it and laughed.
We never said goodbye. We said hello.
By Doctor Write
Originally Posted On Site: 2008-05-28 08:25:33
Last Login: 01.06.09
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